


Zombies

by nemo_r



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: Angst, Horror, M/M, Pre-Slash, Swearing, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-05
Updated: 2011-05-11
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:56:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nemo_r/pseuds/nemo_r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The crew of Destiny accidentally release an unimaginable evil...or you know, Zombies!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Door 58

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** [](http://eshtah.livejournal.com/profile)[**eshtah**](http://eshtah.livejournal.com/)  
>  Written for [](http://green-wing.livejournal.com/profile)[**green_wing**](http://green-wing.livejournal.com/) 's prompt at [](http://zombie-fest.livejournal.com/profile)[**zombie_fest**](http://zombie-fest.livejournal.com/)

Destiny, Day 26, 12:15

“Get down! Get the fuck down!”

Eli drops like a rock as bullets go speeding over his head. He keeps moving, crawling on his hands and knees as he hears the thunk and thud of bullets hitting flesh behind him. The door gets closer, and he can see Greer and Matt in position on either side of the arch, faces grim and guns firing.

The shooting stops; Matt slings his gun over his shoulder and leans down to give Eli a hand up, his eyes scanning the now empty space behind him.

“Move.” He pushes him towards the door. Eli needs no encouragement. The doors slide shut behind them and Greer punches in the locking code.

“That's door 60, Colonel,” Matt radios in. “We found Eli.”

The radio crackles loudly. Their harsh breathing underscores the sound.

“No one else?”

Matt's face is taught, “No sir.”

“Move on to door 61, Lieutenant.”

“Affirmative.” Matt looks up and the movement sends specks of blood and flesh scattering down from his hair. His clothes are covered in much and filth; his eyes are wide and glazed. He pauses.

Eli feels a familiar moment of fear that freezes him to the spot, chill fingers reaching for his heart. Of all the things that could happen...

Matt blinks suddenly and his eyes focus on Eli. A grim smile twists his lips, reminiscent of Rush’s favourite expression, “Don’t worry, Eli, it hasn’t happened yet.”

“And it won't.” Greer steps forward, glaring at Matt and shifting his hold on his gun like it’s a security blanket.

Matt nods once, firmly, and suddenly he is a soldier again. “Eli you're with us. Let’s move out!”

Two corridors down they find a ragged coat, pale pink wool covered in blood and gore. Eli stops and Destiny sways around him.

 _Flashing teeth and white eyes like the moon; her hair thrown up around her head like a dark halo –he didn’t think, he just acted and his arm swung..._

“Keep it together Eli.”

Matt is standing next to him and the Lieutenant’s legs brush against his own. His free arm circles Eli's shoulders. Eli turns from the wall to hide his head in the curve of Matt's arm. His lips mouth silent words against the black of his shirt.

For a moment Destiny stands still.

“Sir.” Greer's voice is tense and wavering.

Eli clenches his teeth together and straightens up. He nods at Matt's questioning gaze but Matt holds his eyes a moment longer, an unidentifiable flickering of emotion behind the concern. Then he turns and signals them to keep moving.

Eli shakes his head and speeds up to a running jog to keep up with the others.

How did it come to this?

**

Destiny, Day 26, 09:00

“No, I don't see how telling people to turn on every God-forsaken console in this ship is a good idea!”

Rush is angry, not an unusual occurrence. Eli shares a half smile with Chloe and shuffles over to sit on the bench. He slips the kino controls out from his pocket and sets it spinning down the corridors, only half paying attention to the argument in front of him.

“I did not order the consoles to be turned on Doctor, I simply ordered an inventory.” Rush snorts and makes to interrupt, but Young talks over him, raising his voice a little and limping forwards. “Nobody is touching any buttons; they're simply taking note of the Ancient controls.”

Eli risks a look up. Rush's lips are in a tight line. “Well maybe your _soldiers_ ,” and the twist he puts on that word is painful, “are incapable of listening to a word you say, because _someone_ has turned a console on, _someone_ has touched the buttons and _someone_ has released God knows what in the middle of the ship.” Rush’s voice is strained and his shoulders slump as he stops speaking. He moves towards a console and braces his arms against it, dropping his head, his hair falling about his eyes, hiding his face. His posture screams weariness and Young limps up beside him, a touch of concern hidden in his eyes.

“Show me,” Young says, his voice markedly softer than before. Rush turns to look at him and there's so much tired emotion in his eyes that Eli almost loses his grip on the controls. The controls vibrate angrily in his hands and he looks down to he see he's accidentally told the kino to smash against the wall. The screen displays a blinking, skewed view of the floor and then deactivates. Eli sighs and slips the controls into his pocket.

Rush rubs his hand over the bridge of his nose and up between his eyebrows. When he drops his hand his eyes are as clear as they ever were.

“As far as I can tell, one of your... _soldiers_ was playing around with a console and accidentally unlocked something.” Rush emphasizes the word ‘soldiers’ again to make it sound like an insult. He rolls his eyes, “Hell, maybe they did it on purpose – I don’t know. Either way, I told you that door was locked for a reason! Now it’s the only thing standing between us and whatever the _fuck_ they released from the compartment!”

He points to the screen. Eli stands and walks silently up behind them, craning over Young's shoulder to get a better look.

Displayed in front of them is a plan of the ship. The screen zooms in to show a complex of many rooms. The boundaries of the centre room are flashing red and above that section of the map is a red locking/unlocking symbol.

“Now it could be they've just opened a leak, which means the room is venting atmosphere. That's not a problem as long as we keep the door locked. In fact, regardless of what's in there, we keep the door locked.” The last comment is directed at Young, who looks back placidly.

“Of course Doctor,” he replies, turning away slightly and speaking into his radio, “All units this is Colonel Young. The door marked...”

He pauses and Rush mutters, “58.”

“The door marked 58 is not, I repeat: _not_ , to be opened under any circumstances. Understood?”

The radio crackles as the teams send back their confirmations

“Well, if that's all. Doctor Rush, Eli,” he nods at them both and limps out the door. Rush watches him go, his face unreadable.

“Um, we could send a kino in” Eli suggests.

“No” Rush says as he stares after the Colonel. He blinks and then transfers his gaze to Eli. “No. That door does not open. Destiny locked it for a reason. We listen to her.” He smooths his hand unconsciously down the console edge as he speaks. Eli turns his face to hide his smile.

**

Destiny, Day 26, 15:00

The control room is busy, people lining the walls as they stand, slouch or crouch beside one another. Everyone’s faces echo the same shocked stares they'd had when they'd first come aboard Destiny.

Lieutenant James nods to him as she walks past, a limping Volker leaning on her shoulder. “I'm glad they found you Eli.” She smiles and it almost looks real.

Matt and Greer push through to the centre where Rush and Young are huddled over a console. Rush has his pen in his hand and is pointing at the screen.

“They've spread out to here, back to there, and over there.”

He outlines the section in red, marking out the boundaries of an area where the ship narrows to a bottleneck, and continues, “And that there,” he points to a room on the far side of the infestation.

Eli sighs, recognising the symbol. “That's the Stargate.”

There's a muttering from the surrounding crowd, and Rush raises his hand for silence, “It gets better. Since this route is blocked off due to leakages, as is this one,” he flags up two corridors, “That is the only way to the mess, and the majority of our edible supplies.”

There's a collective groan at the words. Young looks up, “All right. All right, people!” He turns back to the console. “Here,” his fingers hover above the screen's surface, “If we can get teams here, here and... here, we can herd them into this space. We set charges in the room before hand and-”

“-Blow them up?” someone calls from the crowd.

“We can't do that, they're...”

“They're zombies!” Greer yells. His fingers are tight on his gun and his eyes are wide. “Fucking zombies!”

Eli shuffles away from him and towards the others.

“Easy, Sergeant!” Young cautions, sweeping his hands downwards in a universal 'Calm The Fuck Down' gesture.

Matt moves up next to Greer and begins to talk lowly in his ear, his hand moving slowly to the gun and pushing until it points at the floor.

“We need to get the civilians out of here.” Young tells Wray. He motions to the two soldiers standing beside him to help her. They nod and begin to shift people towards the door.

Another team comes in, one of their members limping between them. The civilians scramble out of their way and the room starts clearing faster.

“Report!” Young barks as he raises his gun. He’s not the only one.

“He wasn’t bit sir. He fell. I think his leg's broken.”

Eli winces in sympathy, and Young orders them to report to Lieutenant Johansen in a room off to the right.

Young turns back to the console, “I want Scott leading A team here. Herd them from the side then block off their exits.” Eli tracks the movement of his fingers. “Greer, I want you to take B team, set the room, then retreat to here. You pick off stragglers and any that get through.” Young pauses and then points over to the other side of the screen, on the far edge of the red mass. “I'll take here. They can't move that fast. I keep moving, lure them towards the trap, and then circle round and make my way back to you.”

“And how exactly do you propose to get through this?” Rush demands in a harsh voice as he points to the red area on the screen.

Young steps back and turns to face Rush's stare head-on, “I'll fly.”

Eli holds his breath as the two men attempt to stare each other down. Both stand firm, shoulders back, but Young is placid and serene, while Rush frowns, his lips in a thin bloodless line.

Rush speaks first, “And your team? Who else will you drag along on this suicide mission?”

“No one. I'll go alone”.

A number of voices rise in protest at this. Matt is shaking his head. Greer's face is thunderous. But Rush is silent. Eli's eyes flicker from face to face nervously.

Young raises his hand for silence. “Scott and I are the only pilots we have. Scott, I need you here, to protect the clean areas, the civilians, the injured and the control room. Therefore I have to be the one who flies round to the docking bay on the other side.

Matt protests, “Sir we can exchange-”

“No, Lieutenant!” Young barks out, cutting the protest in half. He continues in a quieter voice, “That's final. Load up and move out. Greer, with me.” He steps away from the console and starts running through the materiel needed to rig the trap. Greer follows him out of the control room.

Eli can see Matt's anger and frustration in the glint of his teeth, in the tension around his eyes. He moves towards the soldier hesitantly, his hand reaching out to brush against Matt's arm. Matt turns empty eyes to Eli.

“I lose them all,” he whispers, so low Eli almost doesn't catch it.

“I'm here,” Eli replies, and he attempts a smile that feels starched and uncomfortable on his face.

Matt's eyes fall shut and he squeezes them tight. Eli turns his shoulder into Matt's and lets him lean against his frame, allowing him to disguise the movement of his hand down to Matt's and the intertwining of their fingers. Matt's fingers are cold. They grip Eli's as they shake with tension. Eli squeezes back, speaking as loudly as he can through the silent and unseen gesture. Then Young is back and Matt is checking his gun, signalling to his men, and moving away.

He turns back just at the exit, catches Eli's eyes and flexes his hand once. Eli nods back at him and he's gone.

Eli spins on his heel to offer his help to Rush, but finds Rush already looking at him, his face open and raw once more, pity and affection staining his gaze. He turns away before meeting Eli's eyes, missing Young's appraising look in his direction.

Eli walks forward, “What can I do?”

Young starts to reply, but Rush talks over him.

“Stay here.”

Young turns to look at Rush, his face registering shock for only a moment before he returns it once more to his impenetrable façade.

“Take this console,” Rush instructs Eli, “Ensure that each lock goes through correctly and warn us if any of the infected escape us.”

“Us, Dr. Rush?” Young's voice is deliberately light, and Rush answers in kind.

“Why yes, Colonel Young,” the scientist replies, rolling the syllables of the word 'Colonel' around in his mouth. “Surely you didn't expect me to let you have the hero's death after all?” Then he suddenly he drops the playful tone. “Going into that hotbed, slow movers or not, with that,” and he gestures at the crutch, “You're as good as dead.”

Young tilts his head, “I didn't know you cared.”

“I don't,” Rush's voice is brusque, but his eyes drop to the console. “If you fail, then it will all have been for naught. We don't have enough charges for a second try. You have a better chance of survival with someone at your back.” He pauses, “You do trust me at your back, don't you?” His voice twists the word 'trust' in a mocking tone.

Young stares at the curve of Rush's head as the doctor scans the console. Neither one moves. Eli shifts nervously as the air grows thick. Young's eyes suddenly flicker to him as though he had for a moment forgotten he was there. He takes a deep breath then nods. “Very well. Rush, you’re with me; Eli will keep an eye on things from here.” The Colonel limps off.

Rush rolls his eyes as he turns and to snatch up a rifle laid over a nearby console. “Good luck, Eli.” he says, turning and walking backwards on his way out.

Eli smiles shakily in acknowledgement, but his fingers are already running over his console, bringing up the area layout and the movements of the infected, ensuring that the doors that can lock are doing so. When he next looks up Rush is gone.

**

Destiny, Day 26, 12:00

It happened so fast. That is all he can keep thinking. It just happened so fast.

 _She looked distraught, stumbling over the corner of her coat as she pulled it from her shoulders. Dropping it to the floor, she ran forward blindly._

 _“Chloe!” He called her name as she flashed past him but she didn't slow, didn't hear. He left the table, the metal ball of the broken kino still in his hand, and rushed out behind her, just fast enough to see her back disappear around the corner._

 _“Chloe?” he asked, raising his voice. He had just started to chase after her when Matt came bursting from around the corner, skidding to a halt in front of Eli. His pants were slipping low on his hips, the fly undone, his t-shirt looped over his arm._

 _“Which way, Eli?” Matt struggled into his top as he waited for an answer. Eli tried not to stare at the hem as it clung to Matt’s chest, strong fingers pulling it down. “Eli,” Matt repeated his name, stepping a touch closer, “Where is she?”_

 _Eli waved vaguely down the corridor. As Matt moved, his neck shone from a thin layer of sweat from..._

 _Lieutenant James appeared at the opposite end of the corridor, tucking her shirt into her pants._

 _...Not from the exertion of running then._

 _Eli realized what had just happened. “I'll go to her. I doubt she wants to see you right now. I wouldn't...” he let the end of his sentence trail into Destiny's dusty floor as he walked away._

 _He glanced back as he turned the corner. Matt stood in the middle of the corridor, his hands frozen on his hem, a sudden realisation having broken across his face._

Eli shivers and huddles further back in the gap between crates.

 _He'd spent precious minutes searching for her, calling her name. At first, when he began running past numbered doors he barely noticed. His mind was filled with a forced blankness, a fearful dread of what he could and couldn't say to Chloe, flashes of smooth toned abs that he pretended not to see distracting him. Gradually the numbering began to filter into his consciousness. 54...55...56..._

 _Oh shit._

 _His voice rose sharply, “Chloe! No! Fuck, Chloe don't...”_

 _The running had stolen the breath from his lungs. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and dampened his brow. His fingers tightened around the smooth curve of the kino, the tips of his fingers hooking in the broken edge._

 _“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck... CHLOE!”_

 _And there she was, in front of Door 58. Her hands were on the door controls, her pale face a shining half moon as she cast a tear-stained glance behind her. Then the door was open and she passed through the entryway._

 _Eli's heart stuttered at the sound of her scream._

 _He had no memory of crossing those last few steps; he was just there, pulling her from those things and dragging her away down the corridor, running, stumbling and falling. He'd turned to her, panting there on the floor. He’d brushed the hair from her brow where it lay like a halo around her head. And she'd lunged at him.  
_  
Eli presses the heels of his hands against his eyes.

“Fuck! Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he keeps muttering to himself.

“Eli!”

He raises his head.

“Eli!”

Louder now. Closer.

“ELI!”

He looks up and there at the other end of the room is Matt, gun in his hand, with Greer next to him. And then Eli is running; running away from the shambling footsteps behind him – he’s leaving them behind. Almost. Almost...

“Get down, get the fuck down!”


	2. Door 85

Destiny, Day 26, 10.30

Rush closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. The alarm is still flashing in the corner of the screen and each blink of the light seems to send a shooting pain through his tired head.

He smooths his fingers over his eyes and brushes them down to his lips, taking a breath and stepping back from the console slightly. Arches his spine, and pushes his arms backwards, making his elbows meet behind him, then unfurls and stretches them up above his head. He releases a sigh as his muscles protract. Rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck, turning his head to either side. Then he rotates his upper body on his hips, twisting one way and then the other, catching sight of the empty corridor... the console... empty corridor... console... empty -- except it isn't empty. He stops moving and drops his head down to study the screen.

“Colonel Young.”

“Dr Rush.”

The man walks towards him from behind, his steps familiarly slow and lopsided, but missing the tapping of the rifle crutch. Rush shoots a sideways glance from the corner of his eye. Young makes his way to the wall and leans against it slightly, keeping the weight off his recovering leg.

He looks up and catches Rush staring. “Any crises I should know about?” he asks.

Rush blinks, then looks down at the console once more. “You mean other than your men being incompetent?”

Young is silent, and Rush doesn't raise his head.

“No,” Rush sighs, a little of the bite leaving his words. “Just the usual.” He spins up the hovering screen and sends data over to it. “We're low on water and certain compounds, but nothing life-threatening. I'm working on a way to tell _Destiny_ we need food...” He trails off. “If I can't crack that soon we will have to worry. But...” he shrugs, “Nothing you can do.”

Young moves forwards to look up at the screen, and Rush turns to follow his movement, leaning his hip against the console. Young's face is half obscured by a coloured grid and scrolling Ancient text. His eyes flicker back and forth. The rest of him is still.

Rush's mouth twists. _How can the man be so impassive?_

He must have made some noise because Young's eyes drop down to him, and Rush realises he was wrong. There's a hint of a question in those eyes; a touch of concern. Rush turns and walks to the another console. Young’s concern is unnecessary, as is his pity, and Rush strikes harder than he needs to on the controls.

“Everything is under control here, Colonel,” he snaps, shoulders hunching. “Don't you have places to be?”

“I do.” Young's voice is low and steady. He makes no move to the door.

“Places that aren't here?” Rush finds himself injecting more venom into his tone, as if to compensate for the lack of emotion in the other man's.

Young sighs, and there's something terribly human about the sound. Rush stubbornly keeps his head down.

“Should I send Eli along? Or would you prefer-”

“Don't even say that man's name,” Rush growls lowly, and Young huffs out air in an almost-laugh.

“All right.” He turns to limp out the door.

Rush allows his eyes to flick up and consider the man's back as he leaves, but at the entrance Young turns. Rush quickly drops his eyes.

“Since there are no catastrophes at this time I expect to see you in the mess at-” His radio crackles, and at the same time a low alarm goes off on the other console. Rush hurries over to it, half an ear on the conversation.

“-el Young, Colonel.” Scott's voice wavers, and the sound of screams come over the radio.

“Scott, report.” Young's voice is tense and Rush can hear a difference from before. He looks down, notices the red symbol, and with a feeling of dread that drips weight into his fingers, he pulls up a map of the ship.

“Sir- Sir the door was opened.” Scott's voice is rising, “She was running, and Eli went after her, and I didn't, I couldn't...”Scott's voice cracks. In the background there's the rattling hail of bullets.

“Scott, Lieutenant, _Scott_. Calm down. Tell me what happened.” Young is walking forwards, his eyes on the console before Rush.

“The door, sir. Chloe opened the door. She opened the door and let them out.”

“Them? What them?”

“They... Sir... I don't–”

“Just say it, Lieutenant!” Lieutenant James's voice comes through over the radio.

“They seem to be humanoid sir, but they... they're violent, like... like...”

There's a scuffling sound over the radio.

“Like zombies, sir.” James's voice is short and sharp.

Rush and Young catch each other's eyes in shared shock.

“They move slowly, they have strong grips, and as far as we can tell, destroying the head is the only thing that can kill them. They're zombies, and they infect with their bite. Miss Armstrong was infected. She's dead, sir. We can't find Eli.”

Young pauses for a second; then he's moving away, firing orders into the radio. He's gone before Rush can ask him whether it's wise to run into the thick of things once again.

Rush sighs and looks down at the map. Zombies. _Of all the things._ His fingers flicker over the screen.

The question is: what to do from here? His fingers grow still, and he feels a cold idea trickle into the back of his mind.

His eyes flash up and around the room. Young is long gone, and the room is empty.

He drops his eyes once more, and his fingers hover over the controls hesitantly.

 _Not yet... perhaps they can contain it._

He picks up his radio, turns to the military channel, and the sound of screaming and the thunder of gunfire echoes through the room.

 _Perhaps they can contain it... But if they can't..._

He dials down the volume and continues doing his job.

**

Destiny, Day 26, 11.30

The lights flicker a little. Careless rattle of gunfire has blown out a control box deep in Destiny's insides.

 _He could stabilise it if he was allowed anywhere near the consoles._

He shifts his back uncomfortably against the wall.

 _The screams have stopped. That's a relief._

Teams radio in every so often. A door number, and occasionally the background clamour of gunfire. Less often, the discovery of a missing person. Alive --

“Sir, Franklin's with us. Sending him back now.”

\-- Or otherwise.

“Sir. We found Park. She's... she's not...”

“Carry on, Sergeant.”

“Yessir.”

Young's face looks lined, like he's aged suddenly in the past few hours.

Rush leans, like a recalcitrant schoolboy, against the wall where he's been sent. He clenches his fists, and then relaxes them, consciously smoothing out his fingers and crossing his arms over his chest.

TJ comes in, walking directly to Young, and they speak quietly together. Young then nods to a couple of soldiers and they leave with TJ, heading towards the infirmary.

Rush grimaces. _They could thank him for keeping that clear, but no._

Young turns and catches Rush's eye. His face is cold and blank, and Rush experiences a fleeting wish for the earlier hint of emotion.

Young turns back and snatches up his rifle. “Come on. We're taking the upper left sector, beyond the infirmary.”

Rush stands slowly. “You want me along with you?”

“No, Rush. I don't want you in here. Alone,” he replies, his tone vicious. His eyes are on his weapon, as if he doesn't trust his reactions should he see Rush's face.

Rush is overcome with an angry desire to pull a reaction from the man. It feels like hours since Young spoke directly to him, now it's like their back on Icarus, like he's beneath his notice.

Rush steps forwards. “Aren't you going to give me a gun?” he demands.

Young finishes checking his own weapon and turns to Rush. “Are you going to shoot me with it? For the _greater good_ , of course.”

Rush sneers. “You bastard. What use am I if I can't even defend myself? You may as well let me stay-”

“You know how to use it?” Young cuts him off mid-tirade, his voice bland but cold.

“I sat through those bloody lessons, didn't I? Yes, I know how to use it.”

Young turns, snatches up a spare rifle and shoves it towards him, sliding a clip from his pocket. He throws it at the doctor's head.

Rush barely catches it, showing his teeth in a parody of a smile, and twists the rifle in his hands. He fumbles with the magazine but eventually slots it in.

“There, finger not on the trigger. No chance of _accidentally_ shooting you in the head.”

Young smiles grimly, “You're in front.” He waves with his gun for Rush to move.

Rush twists his lips and tightens the inside of his cheeks, but moves forwards without a word. Young won't shoot him in the back. It's not his style. He's an in-the-face man if ever there was one.

They walk in silence until they reach the boundary of the infected area.

Young signals Rush to stand behind the curve of the doorway, then before the scientist can protest, his fingers flicker over the controls and he slams the release button, stepping to the side as it slides open.

They both sweep their eyes over the interior, guns raised.

Nothing. No movement, no noise.

Young, despite his earlier statement, steps in first.

Rush stands at the door, gun raised, eyes blank and ready to fire on any unexpected motion. But there's nothing. Young marks the door and they move forwards. They do two more rooms until the silence grows oppressive and Rush can't stand it.

“Imagine doing this with the doors open.”

Young stops. He turns. His face is livid in a way that makes Rush re-consider his “he-won't-shoot-me” argument.

Rush doesn't back down. “I did you a favour Colonel. I contained the threat.” He steps closer, “If I hadn't acted, we'd have been overrun: the infirmary, the control room, the-”

Young shoves him with his gun, pushing him backwards in a flurry of movement and slamming him against the far wall, the hard line of the rifle pressing uncomfortably into Rush's chest. Young's eyes are on a level with his, their faces close. And Rush can feel Young's body shaking with barely contained anger, his breathing ragged.

“You bastard. You fucking, heartless bastard. You trapped _my_ people . _My people_. In there,” he jerks his head toward the locked door. “With those fucking _things_.” He's up close, spitting the words in Rush's face. “And you dare... you dare to say you did me a favour?”

Rush swallows uncomfortably. “Would you rather the ship was covered with them?” he replies in a growl, his accent rolling the words.

“We had it under control-”

“Oh, bollocks,” Rush interrupts. “You were outnumbered, your people were dying. I made the decision that had to be made. I was the only one in the position to see the extent of the threat. I saw a chance and I took it. It's that simple.”

Young shoves the rifle against Rush again, his lips moving in a way that says there are words gathering behind his teeth. But before he can speak, his radio crackles.

“Sir, this is James. We found Wray; sending her back to the control room with Richards now.”

Young stays pressed up against Rush for a second, panting harshly, his eyes wide.

“Sir?”

Rush is very still.

Young moves backwards in a burst of motion, unhooking the radio to reply, and turns his head away.

Rush exhales slowly.

The radio crackles then falls dead, and the only sound is the panting of the two men echoing in the silent corridor.

Finally, Young speaks, his eyes on the radio, his voice hard and measured.

“Yeah. You made your decision. You decided you had the right to play God. To decide who would get to live and who would die. And now you and me, we're gonna do the sweeps of these rooms, and were gonna see what happened to all those people you decided didn't deserve a chance to escape. All those people you trapped when you locked the doors.”

He spins on his heel, walking up to the nearest door and punches in the code, then hits the open button. He raises his weapon...but he’s too slow.

Within seconds the thing from inside the room is on him. It must have been standing right by the door.

The force of its movement throws Young backwards, bearing him to the ground, his bad leg giving beneath him.

It's snarling and spitting in Young's face. Rush doesn't have time to think, to panic. They're too close for gunfire, so he runs forwards, moving swiftly. He kicks the thing hard in the head, lifting it half off of Young's body, only its clawed fingers catch in the fabric of the jacket, holding it close. It is almost sitting on Young's hips.

Rush swings his rifle around, points it directly in the thing's face, and fires.

Blood and brains splatter against the far wall. Some flicks outwards and speckles their clothes.

Then Rush turns mechanically and scans the room. Young's hoarse pants sounding beneath him.

The room is empty. Rush stays still, staring, waiting for his heartbeat to calm.

 _What if I was too slow, what if he's infected. Look down, look down, Nicholas. Look._

“I'm okay.”

Rush sags, his shoulders falling in relief despite himself, and he turns to look down at Young.

Splayed out on the floor, eyes open wide and blinking slowly, the man takes a shuddering breath, then pushes himself upwards until he's sitting up.

Rush steps over him and moves out of the way. He pauses for a moment, then slides his rifle around and stretches a hand out.

Young just looks at it, then turns his head up to look at Rush, his face unreadable as ever, albeit still a little pale.

Rush notices his hand is shaking. He's killed a man. He's killed Spenc— _the thing_. It was a thing.

He consciously doesn't look at the headless body, still clothed in army fatigues.

Young slips a warm hand in his, distracting him from his thoughts. Rush pulls the stocky man upright, stumbling a little.

Young takes a deep breath and stares directly at Rush, scanning his face.

Rush looks back, blankly.

Young lets his hand drop, shifts his weapon on his shoulder and turns away.

“Next door's through here,” he calls back. Rush blinks, shakes the tension from his shoulders, and follows.

Young doesn't protest when Rush stays alongside him, and they continue, side by side, through the next sweep.

Two doors later, Scott radios back with Eli, and Rush notices the lines around Young's mouth relax minutely.

**

Destiny, Day 26, 14.00

There's blood in Rush's hair; it congeals his fringe into spikes that fall in his tired and grainy eyes, obstructing his vision. He's been up since yesterday, and worked straight through both shifts only to be greeted with the alarm this morning. _God. This morning. To think, it's only been a matter of hours._

Young raises his rifle tiredly and takes up a position on the right hand side of the door, his eyes sliding over to Rush.

Rush brings his own rifle up and braces it against his shoulder, nodding back. He flicks his eyes forward.

Young slams the release and the door slides open and a smooth whoosh of released air flies past them.

They scan the interior: it's clear. Young steps inside carefully; Rush moves forwards to keep him covered.

The room is full of crates; Ancient markings, faded to grey decorate their sides. Young speeds forward to crouch behind a second crate, and Rush advances to take his space.

They leapfrog through the room, gripping their weapons tightly. Finally, they reach the far wall and allow their muscles to relax a notch. Young turns to Rush as they walk back to the door. There's a streak of dark blood over Young's cheek and the arch of his nose; Rush isn't sure if it's his own. His eyes have thawed somewhat since the morning – saving each other's lives repeatedly over the hours they've been moving, watching each other's backs... it seems to have made a difference – though an apology is probably still out of the question.

He steps up next to Young as they exit, and waits for him to mark the door. Then they move off down the corridor, footsteps echoing loudly in the silence.

They haven't spoken in a few hours, so it's a surprise when Young pauses before the next door. He turns slightly towards Rush, not quite looking at him.

“You all right?”

Rush blinks slowly, his eyes feeling sticky, then turns his head. Young's shoulders are stiff, his posture closed off. But the words hang in the dark air.

“Yeah. Yes. I'm good Colonel.”

“This is the last one.” He turns and meets Rush's eyes, “Then back to the control room.”

Rush nods silently.

Young presses his lips together, his eyes scanning Rush's face.

“When we get back I want you to go over the floor plans. See where the infection has spread to, the extent, the ground covered...see if we can work out the scale of this thing.”

He's repeating himself.

Rush frowns in confusion, “I thought – you said you didn't want me touching-”

Young interrupts, “Situation's changed. We need this to be over.” He looks at Rush, his eyes intent.

Rush presses his lips against a flicker of slightly hysterical amusement. Was that a Young-style apology?

“I'll see what I can do Colonel.”

Young nods, his gaze steady. “Good.”

He turns his head, but doesn't make any move to the door, and Rush realises suddenly that he's stalling for time. He feels a soft curl of emotion behind his ribs, and, almost involuntarily, steps towards the other man.

Their shoulders brush lightly. Young doesn't relax, but he lets his eyelids fall shut for a moment.

Rush moves slowly, slipping his hand from the barrel of the rifle to reach up and rest his palm against the other man's shoulder. He opens his mouth to speak, but cannot find the words. Instead, he tightens his grip on Young's shoulder once, and then lets his hand drop.

Young draws a deep breath, releases it slowly, and then moves away to the door.

Rush brings his rifle back up and blinks his eyes quickly, raising his eyebrows to open them wide and shake the weariness from his face.

Young hits the release and the door starts to open, filling the hallway with the sound of shouting and the crackle of flames.

Rush's fingers tighten against the cool surface of the rifle. Voices drift from inside...

 _“It's gonna blow, move now!”_

 _“I can't! I fucking-”_

 _“Do it Adam, move now._ Now! _”_

The door slides completely open to show a large, dark room scattered with crates and broken equipment. The far side is covered in patchy outbursts of flames that flare and crawl up the walls, throwing skewed, moving shadows about the room. Dark forms huddle in the gaps between the fires on the far side.

As they watch, a small barrel - engulfed in flames - bulges oddly and explodes in a burst of noise and green fire.

 _“Now!”_

Riley is about halfway into the room, his beretta in his hands. He stands, aiming down the shaft as Brody comes running out from behind a crate in the corner opposite to the bright green streams of fire.

Behind him, a dark form leaps forward, arms outstretched. There's the echo of a gunshot, and its head flicks backwards from the force of the bullet, blood spattering out behind it as it collapses. Brody's eyes are wide as he leaps over the crates and hunches next to the other man.

Young steps forward, his eyes scanning the flames.

“Riley!”

The sergeant’s head flicks around, eyes widening in shock and relief.

“We'll cover you.” Young jerks his head to indicate the door behind them.

Riley nods and signals to Brody to move. They make it halfway to the door before the things by the flames notice the movement and start to storm forward, clambering over the crates towards them.

Rush fires continuously at the forms by the flames, while Young's rifle rattles in short bursts behind him.

Then Riley and Brody are almost to the door, their bodies blocking the line of fire to the final few forms creeping up from behind them.

Riley is limping slightly, and he stumbles. Brody catches his arm at the last second and heaves him back upright as they run on. Closer, closer - their bodies are silhouetted darkly against the flames.

Then suddenly there's movement from the shadows to the side, and a body slams into Brody, bearing him away from Riley and onto the ground. Riley spins with the movement, falling to his knees, and twisting around. He fires once... two times, first into the creature’s back, then its neck. The gun clicks twice more on empty, then he shoots forward, grabbing the form around the shoulders.

Rush and Young fire over their heads at the beings chasing them.

Brody's arms are braced. The snarling, spitting creature above him bears down heavily; its teeth gnash above his face, its eyes roll crazily.

Riley manages to get an arm around its neck and _heaves_ , pulling it backwards. He falls back against a crate. It collapses on top of him, twitching limply, then goes still.

Brody scrambles up and away, then gets his feet under him. He leaps forward, kicking the thing away from Riley, and helps him out from under it.

They stumble up to Young, panting. He waves them through the door.

Rush breathing heavily, lowers his gun, his finger tense and stiff from pressing the trigger. Young pulls Brody over to a wall light and scans his face and neck for injuries.

Rush looks up as Young waves Riley forward, the sergeant’s body silhouetted for a moment against the fire, alone. Then, in an instant he is joined by the slumped shape of the creature rushing forward. It pushes him to his knees, its head buried in his neck, and blood sprays out from the join.

For a moment, the three of them are frozen in shock, then Brody lets out a pained scream and shoots forward.

Young's hand flips out and holds him still, curving his body in and pressing him against the wall.

Rush steps forwards, his eyes wide.

The creature lets Riley's body drop and glares up at him, its teeth wide and bloody.

Rush fires point blank between its eyes, the head exploding in a spray of blood and brains. Dark flecks speckle his face. The headless body collapses backwards, blood pooling around its limbs.

Young steps back, and Brody runs forward, falling to his knees beside Riley.

Rush turns, his gun held tight in his hands, his eyes still wide.

Brody is whispering a jumbled stream of words, his hand smoothing Riley's hair away from his face.

Young steps forward.

Riley is gasping and his breath is bubbling, blood staining the side of his mouth. He clutches at Brody's arms weakly, his lips mouth silently.

“It's okay; it's all right, H, it’s okay,” Brody's voice is cracking.

Riley's hand slips from his arm and falls limply to the floor. Brody lets out a choked gasp and his entire frame shudders.

No one moves. For a while there's no sound but Brody's harsh breathing.

Rush turns and catches Young's eyes over his head. His gaze is pained. The lines in his forehead are deep.

Rush sets his jaw and steps forward, dropping his hand to Brody's shoulder.

Brody presses his eyes shut and turns away from Rush.

“J-just give me a m-minute.”

Rush pauses for a moment. “We don't have another minute.”

Brody turns a tear-shocked gaze upon him, outrage written clear on his face.

Rush winces but doesn't turn away.

“I'm sorry,” he shakes his head.

“Rush,” Young steps forward, and Rush turns to face him, catches his eye, then steps back.

Young hunkers down beside Brody and speaks lowly, his hand reaching out to encircle the other man's back.

Rush walks away a few steps and leans back against the wall, bending his shaking legs, sliding his back down until he's sitting. He lets his eyelids fall shut and rests his head back.

There's the heavy sound of a gunshot.

His mind blanks.

Time slips as he sits, until he hears steps coming up towards him. He opens his eyes a crack. Brody walks past without looking at him. Young halts in front of Rush and his grimy hand comes into view.

Rush leans forward to take it, pulls himself upwards, stumbling a little on cramped legs, and falls slightly into Young.

His head feels heavy and his limbs slump against the other man. Young's hand moves to grip his elbow; his other hand reaches out to Rush's shoulder.

“I didn't -I never.”

He presses his eyes shut against the rough fabric of Young's jacket.

“It's all right, Rush.”

“No,” Rush shakes his head, and lifts it away from Young, moving back a little to look him in the eye.

“I never apologised.”

Young's brows rise in confusion.

“I never apologised for slamming him into the wall.” He takes a shaky breath, “When I flipped out before my... breakdown.” He shifts backwards out of Young's grip.

“I never apologised. I never-” His words choke in his throat, and he drops his head.

Young stands still for a moment, then moves back, his hand dropping from Rush's arm.

“Pull yourself together, Rush.”

Rush looks up with wide eyes.

“I need you _here_ Rush. I need you.”

His eyes spark and something catches high in Rush's chest.

“-To be in control.” Young coughs and there's possibly the hint of red behind the dark blood-spatter on his cheeks. He nods sharply and turns, stalking away.

Rush stares at his retreating back, then blinks his gritty eyes and pushes away from the wall, following the two other men silently down the corridor.

**

Destiny, Day 26, 16.00

The shuttle shudders as it descends into the dock. The hydraulic hiss of seals slip around the walls. Young slides the wheel forwards and releases it, leaning back in his seat and staring out of the windows at _Destiny's_ long back stretching out before them.

“This won't be like the sweeps, Rush,” he says without turning.

Rush releases his belt and stands, slowly stretching out his cramped legs. “I know,” he replies, eyes tracing the back of Young's head.

“This is inside the infestation.”

“I know.”

“They won't be held behind doors like before.”

“Colonel, _I know_.” The man isn't listening to him.

“They could be anywhere; we need to be on our guard from the moment-”

“ _Everett!_ I know!” Rush explodes.

Young turns finally, an eyebrow raised, and Rush feels a blush tingle on his cheeks. He sucks his teeth and drops his eyes, turning his head down and to the side.

“Well, in that case, _Nicholas_.”

Rush tenses and looks up at his name, but Young's eyes are smiling, and he relaxes his shoulders. Young starts to stand. “Let's-” Young halts, interrupting himself with a hiss as he straightens his legs. His fingers press white against the back of the chair, and Rush moves forwards quickly, sliding his arm under the other man's.

Young's eyes flutter closed for a moment.

“Young?”

His are eyes still closed; Young’s forehead twitches, and the corner of his mouth quirks.

“Back to that again, then?”

Rush turns his face. His grip on the other man has brought him right up close, and he can see the fine lines of Young's crow’s feet radiating out from the corners of his eyes.

“Can you stand... Everett?”

Young opens his eyes, his gaze clear, and he turns his head to catch Rush's brown eyes.

“Yeah.”

He doesn't move away, and for a moment Rush feels no desire to push, until tension trickles in at the base of his neck and the doors beckon ominously.

Young picks up on the change in his demeanour, and his expression firms. He nods shortly to Rush and moves away.

Rush keeps an eye on his gait as they load up. Young slides on his vest, the handle of his beretta sticking out the side. Rush slips extra clips into the pockets of his trousers, sliding his handgun in the waistline at his back; his shirt bunches a little. Then, weapons held in tight grips, they walk towards the door. Rush hits the release button, and Young steps out first into the darkened corridor.

The damage to the lighting _would_ be worse on this side of the ship. Rush restrains the urge to roll his eyes and keeps them level, scanning the semi-dark hall as the lights stutter and flicker overhead.

Young signals to the left, and they tread softly down the walkway.

 _Destiny_ creaks and sighs around them, and Rush feels a flash of sorrow for what they've put her through. What they are planning to put her through.

His eyes flicker up and along the empty corridor, and he draws his hand away from the barrel of the rifle, resting it gently on the wall. His fingers are splayed, and they trail gently over her tired sides.

Then he squares his shoulders and walks forward a little faster, catching up to Young in a couple of paces.

Two turns later they reach the first door.

The light above them flicks on and off, out-of-rhythm, working uncomfortably against the top of Rush's eyes.

He glances over at Young, then turns and hits the door release.

The door slides open with a hiss and a squeal of sticky metal, old hinges protesting at the movement.

It jams halfway open, and the men trade a look, eyes a little too wide.

Young goes forward, first as usual, gun thrust in front of him.

Rush follows after, slamming his hand on the close button without looking away from the room's interior.

The lighting is better in here, illuminating the empty corners.

He allows himself a deeper breath, but the relief doesn't penetrate far; his lungs expand under protest, contracting all too quickly behind the safety of his ribs.

“One down,” Young's voice is scratchy and too-loud in the quiet.

Rush turns his weary eyes on him as they move across the room.

“Don't count them,” he whispers in reply, shaking his head. “I don't want to quantify it, don't want to know.”

Young looks at him, slowing as they reach the door.

“I just want this to be over.”

Young's eyes soften, no hint of his thoughts in the hard lines of his face.

He nods once, and then turns, firming his stance. Rush faces the door, widening his tired eyes, and shifts his hands, one on the gun, one reaching out for the button.

The door slides open smoothly. The room in front is dark. The light thrown over their shoulders from behind them reveals three sloped creatures. Two are halfway into the room, the other lingering by the far door, just within the skewed halo from the lights. Their heads swivel towards them as the door slides back, and they begin lumbering forward, bodies shaking with impact as the men's guns fire brightly in the dim light.

The creatures slide to their knees, then to the ground, bodies unnaturally still. Not a twitch, not a shake of late-firing synapses. Just dead flesh.

Rush’s stomach is clenched tight, his eyes flicking from shadow to shadow. His feet are frozen, unwilling to leave the halo of false-safety the light gives them.

Young flicks on the light attached to his rifle and steps forward.

Rush swallows, then echoes his actions and steps up beside him. They move a little into the room so that their lights can sweep the shadows, push them back, around, and then flood behind them.

Empty.

They stand still for a moment by the door. Then Rush twists and sends it closed, the light from behind them sliding out, the room only illuminated by their sweeping flash-lights. They walk forward, moving, by unspoken agreement, wide around the fallen bodies.

Rush halts a step away from the one by the door; it lies directly under the button.

His eyes flicker down to it, catching on the dirty, but brightly coloured shirt, on the long hair that still holds some semblance of a braid. His mind begins to run stutteringly over memories of faces even as he tries to stop, tries not to know.

Suddenly, Young is close, shouldering his way into Rush's vision, his gun slung low over his shoulder. He pushes Rush's rifle down and away, his hand trailing up Rush's arm and clenching on the curve of his shoulder and neck. The sudden heat radiates through his Rush’s thin shirt.

Rush's eyes are drawn to the curve of his cheek, the slant of his eyes looking dark in the shadows.

Young sways his head in that way that signals an attempt to catch a vacant stare, and Rush focuses on him compliantly.

“You take the other side.”

Rush looks blankly at him for a moment as his mind processes, then he frowns.

“Are you-”

Young nods before he's finished.

“I trust you. You can do it,” he sort of pats Rush awkwardly on the shoulder.

Rush presses his lips tight, clenches down on the flash of warmth in his chest and steps to the side, shuffling away from the body.

He stares forward and hears the thud as Young's palm meets the button.

The door slides open smoothly for a moment, then jams, leaving a gap just wide enough for grasping arms to reach through and pull Rush bodily into the other room.

**

The room is dark.

His flashlight busts out in the first few desperate moments.

The shadows are lit up by lightning flashes of gunfire that rattle and shake about his ears.

He can feel his lips draw away from his teeth, and then he's grinning manically in the darkness, limbs twitching violently away from any contact, shaking the hideous sensation of their twisting, clenching fingers from his skin.

He rips his clothes in his instinctive, violent pull to escape their grip, ( _oh fucking, oh fuck, their teeth, don't let them, don't-_ )

Kicking and screaming, falling sprawling to the floor, not shifting his grip on his gun and firing, firing upwards, outwards, swinging the rifle around the room – firing indiscriminately into the bodies that swarm towards him, their unnaturally cold blood spraying across his face.

Barely remembering to aim for heads, he watches faces explode in the flashing crackle of gunfire.

He's screaming, screaming and swearing, and he doesn't know what he's saying; he can feel his mouth form the words but not hear them.

Sound is bleeding out from his ears, and there's just the bright light surrounding the rifle in his hands, illuminating the small patch of darkness he's in.

They're everywhere. In every shadow. Everywhere, they're everywhere.

He's firing, firing, firing until he can hear again, and the only sound he hears is that awful, hollow... click.

His breath comes in great heaving gasps, his throat scratched raw, his shoulders, his entire frame, shuddering with each inhalation. His eyes roll crazily from side to side, and his fingers are so tight on the fucking useless rifle it's a wonder it hasn't bent in two.

His body shudders with cold sweat, his skin sticky, his muscles twitching in the dark.

There's a scuffle of noise from beside him and he screams involuntarily, a garbled instinctive sound, stumbling backwards and away.

He hits the wall.

It's moving closer and he slides away, fingers slipping from the rifle. It clatters to the floor.

He stumbles, clutching at the wall as he goes.

Then he's falling, tripping and falling to the ground. He can hear its snarling growl, the hideous sound of its dead tongue rolling in its mouth.

There's a high pitched whine coming from behind his teeth, and he can feel goose bumps crawling up his arms.

It's closer, so close he imagines he can smell the dead, foetid scent of its flesh.

Then suddenly he can see it. See its hideous body starkly silhouetted from behind. It shakes, twitches, and convulses, then collapses on top of him.

He screams and scrambles up and away, sliding his legs out from its dead weight, and squints into the light as he leans, trembling, against the cold wall.

His jaw moves silently and his head shakes from side to side.

The light moves closer.

It sways slightly with each step, until Young is finally standing before him, pulling him away from the body and into his warm arms, the other man’s grasp tightening around him with a desperation Rush himself echoes. Rush’s hands come up and circle Young with a grip so tight he's not sure he could let go.

It takes him a few moments to recognise the words being spoken in a frantic stream against his ear.

“- Fuck's sake Rush, You were gone, you were fucking gone, and it wasn't, it wasn't dead, fucking tackled me. Tackled, me to the fucking ground and I heard you screaming and I couldn't-” A panicked inhale, “-bashed its fucking head in. I bashed its fucking head in.”

They're gasping, panting, and shaking, and he can feel actual tears tracing down his cheeks, hot and alive.

Young turns his head, his cheek trailing against Rush as if he cannot bear to lose contact. He moves back only the absolute amount necessary to catch Rush's eyes.

“Fuck. Rush I thought... I thought-”

Rush leans forwards and presses cold lips to his, eating his words down hungrily. He sucks on his lips, his tongue, and licks the inside of his mouth as if he could climb inside him and never let go.

They stand there, breathing each other's air, for a very long time.

**

Rush moves first, drawing away from Young slowly, his head turned down, not meeting his eyes. Young sighs quietly, brushing his fingers over the back of Rush's neck, but he lets him go.

Rush swallows and stands still for a moment.

“I'll find your gun,” Young turns away and Rush reaches out despite himself, catching a hold of Young's sleeve.

Young turns back, slips his hand over Rush's, and squeezes lightly.

“Rush,” he catches his eyes.

Rush swallows again, and then straightens.

“Okay,” he nods, “I'm okay.”

Young holds his eyes for a beat, then turns, moving away slowly.

At first Rush thinks he's picking over debris in the room, until he recognizes the other man's lopsided gait. Young is limping, limping obviously and heavily.

He presses his lips together in a tight line and walks forwards to follow his sweeping patch of light.

Eventually they find the discarded rifle, and Young presses it into Rush's hands, moving away to shine his light on them as he fits the spare clip. He searches his pocket for the second clip, but it must have fallen out in the scramble. His mind flickers to dark shapes and sharp teeth, and he shakes his head abruptly. Young enquiringly, moves closer, but Rush shakes his head again.

“It's fine, nothing. Let's move. Let's get out of this fucking room.”

Young steps past him to the door and Rush walks up beside him.

They stand a couple of paces away from it, and Rush reaches out to hit the release. The slip of wrist poking out from his sleeve looks pale and thin.

The door moves with a smooth hiss of hydraulics, and cold light floods in, bathing them both in the electric glow.

They shield their eyes, blinking and cursing their stupidity, but nothing comes running out. No shapes move behind the blur of their tears, and within seconds they've blinked them away, and are walking into the cold, empty room.

Rush closes the door and leans back against it, his eyes on Young as he limps hesitantly over to a crate and tries to surreptitiously prop himself up against it.

He draws out the radio and calls Eli.

The boy's voice is high and thin with relief. Young growls, as if to compensate.

The room is cold. He blinks, and Young is looking at him with an unfamiliar expression on his face. The radio is silent.

He's losing time.

He straightens quickly and licks his lips.

Young's eyes shutter a little. Then the expression drops off completely.

“These are the final doors. I'll take that one,” he gestures with his head to the door behind him, “And you take that,” he gestures to his right. “Your way should be clear. But just in case, you're taking my gun, I won't need the flashlight. I'll take about ten minutes to move up the corridor; Eli will release the doors in order as I go past on my way to the room. Then I'll wait until they're in, and escape out the side door.” He pauses. “You know where you need to be?” he looks over questioningly.

Rush looks coldly back.

“No.”

Young jerks in shock.

“No,” Rush repeats, and he can hear a little of his frustration leaking into his tone. “No. For God's sake, no. Are you insane?”

Young's brows draw down low, and he starts to talk, but Rush continues over him, standing and advancing towards him.

“You can't go. The fall this morning and then this...” he trails off and waves to the door behind him. “You can't go, you're limping again.”

Young straightens.

“Don't... try to hide it.” Rush brings his hand to his brow, and closes his eyes beneath his palm, scrubbing his fingers down his face and along his rough jaw.

“For once, for fucking once,” he steps closer, “Think of the larger picture. If you fail, if they don't get into that room... it's all for nothing... _nothing_.”

Young's shakes his head silently. “I have to go.”

“No. Young... Everett, no.”

Rush is standing close enough that he can smell the scent of stale sweat and dried blood rising from the other man, bitter, and slightly reassuring: you have to be alive to perspire.

“Everett,” he repeats, his voice gentle as he looks down into the other man's eyes.

Young is already half slumped against the crate again. Finally, he drops his eyes.

Rush's fingers itch to reach out, to brush a hand over his lined brow. But he tightens his muscles and curls his fingers into his palm, moving away and sliding his gun onto a crate.

He releases the clip then hands the rifle to Young, pulling the other man forwards and fitting his arm onto the make-shift crutch.

“You need-”

“I've got this,” he replies, drawing his forgotten handgun from his jeans. The light catches Young's jaw as he turns, and Rush's fingers tighten over the grip, thumb stroking the rough surface.

“I'll see you in fifteen minutes... Nicholas.”

Rush stares at him, and then draws grin from somewhere deep inside. “Make that ten.”

Young smiles in return, all white teeth and hard eyes, his fingers white on the crutch.

Rush pauses for another second, tension thickening his muscles, then he moves forwards awkwardly and slips his hands around Young's shoulders.

Young moves his free hand around Rush's waist, fingers slipping under his bunched shirt to his skin, pressing hard enough to mark and pulling him in tight.

He turns his head slightly, lips brushing Young's ear. “Ten minutes.” The words are a promise.

He feels Young nod inside his embrace and they draw apart reluctantly, hands lingering, smoothing fabric beneath their fingers. He turns away, refusing to acknowledge the wet gleam in the other man's eyes.

He has to blink a couple of times before he can focus on the door, then he's slamming the release without looking back.

**

The door whooshes shut behind him. The corridor is dark here, though lights flicker further on.

Rush swallows, rolls his head on his neck, and sets his shoulders. He raises his gun up in a two-handed grip.

In the silence, he fancies he can almost hear Young talking into the radio behind the door.

He begins to move, and to his right the first door hisses open, its dark maw looming ominously.

He walks faster.

He can hear the slither and thump of things beginning to move in the darkness, beginning to creep, beginning to follow.

The skin between his shoulder blades shivers, and sweat prickles on his brow.

His lips are dry and he concentrates on the steady thump of his feet, echoed in the high beat of his heart.

It takes an age to reach the lights... and only seconds to leave them.

The sounds behind him grow louder.

He doesn't look, doesn't dare, _because if he does that'll be the end, he'll fall in screaming madness and-_

He rounds the curve and begins the bend back towards Young, back towards the trap.

The corridor is long and seems to be growing longer.

Thump... thump... thump... each footstep... each heartbeat... thump... thump.

That's all, that's all. He concentrates harder, cutting out every sound, keeping his feet steady, staying just ahead of the doors. Not too fast – mustn't lose them. Not too slow – mustn't get cut off.

Steady, steady, and finally, he can see the far door. It's in a patch of flickering light, and, despite himself, his feet speed up.

Behind him the sounds of pursuit grow faster.

He can hear the odd groaning noise they make, and imagines their jaws slack and eyes dead. Their heavy limbs reaching out to his thin exposed back. Their cold, dead breath on his skin – fear stirs the small hairs at the back of his neck.

His eyes are wide and white, straining from side to side.

His steps speed up faster and faster until he's jogging, until he's past the final door. There, finally, and he's running, running flat out. He slams against the wall, striking the button hard and twisting to look behind him.

He almost freezes.

The stutter of his heart shocks him into the doorway and beyond, into the room.

So many, _so fucking many_. They fill his view, stretching back into the corridor and into the darkness.

He stumbles backwards, unable to draw his eyes from the sight. The lights flicker harshly, flashing irregularly on the thick mass of human bodies, and some that aren't even human at all – hideous, twisted things with multiple limbs and great careening eyes that roll crazily in their sockets. Their legs make a sucking sound with each step, and their long, thick hair twists like tentacles.

He scrambles backwards, clambering over the crates and barrels set up in the room, bright red flammable signs printed over almost every surface.

The room is large. Massive really, certainly big enough to accommodate the creatures streaming in behind him.

He begins to wind his way between the barrels, his now useless gun wavering in his shaking hands.

He puts it down.

The risk of missing, and accidentally exploding himself, is too great.

It's like he said to Young. They only have one chance.

A peculiar sort of calm slips over him at the thought; he takes a deep breath... and regrets it instantly.

The vile smell of rotting flesh fills his mouth, choking and thick.

He gags emptily, bends over, and dry heaves, his eyes pressing closed.

The lumbering forms move closer and he spits, glancing up fearfully and jerking backwards as one – _too close_ – makes a swing, a long arm and unnaturally long fingers scraping at the material of his shirt.

He screams, hysterical and reedy. The room seems darker as black spots bloom at the edges of his vision.

 _Oh no, oh fuck no, don't pass out, don't-_

His breath is coming faster, panting, and he's stretching his eyes as wide as they'll go, gritty pain rolling along his eyeballs.

His fingers clench on empty air, _and fuck, aren't they done? Isn't that all of them? How many-_

Then he hears it...finally, the slamming impact, the whoosh of released air, and behind the creatures – faint behind the shushing murmur of dead footfalls and that rumbling groan – he hears a shout.

His name.

“Now Rush. Now Ru-”

Cut off by the slide of the door.

He twists, limbs drawing taught with the sudden movement. He stumbles as he spins to scan the walls.

 _There_ , the door, way over to the side.

He's been pushed too far to the right. The creatures have curved around him, almost to the door.

His mouth twists angrily; he curses himself for leaving his gun even as he scrambles forwards.

He advances madly, and the creatures, as if picking up on his frenzy, begin to murmur louder, groaning and throwing their limbs about crazily.

He's almost to the door when the lights give a final pained flicker, then die out completely.

A whine of dismay slides through his lips.

He keeps moving forwards.

Moves faster.

Trips.

Falls.

Gets up.

Faster, faster.

He can hear them, _hear them everywhere_.

He slams against the wall, the air knocked out of him. Pain flashes up his arm and the side of his face, hot and sharp along his jaw. Then he's straining, fingers splayed wide, clawing for the feel of the button. He stretches his arms to the fullest, and finally he feels the cool curve of the button at the edge of his fingertips.

He sobs his relief and scrambles forwards, beating his hand against it.

As he moves sideways he feels the cold brush of dead limbs against his foot. Adrenaline fizzes up his bones and he screams, stamping down hard and launching himself forward to the doorway... where he slams again against solid metal, bruised limbs blooming once more into harsh pain.

The door isn't opening.

 _Fuck, no, fuck._

He's scrabbling at the control, slamming it with his fist, over and over.

He kicks frantically outwards at the creeping bodies he can feel gathering in the darkness around him.

He can hear their slack jaws salivating in anticipation.

Cold sweat covers his skin, the cloth stuck messily to his back.

Finally, the door slides open a quarter, and relief shivers through his frame, a gasp echoing from between his lips.

A tiny sliver of light shines through, and then widens as something moves behind the door.

His breath catches heavily in his throat –

“Rush?”

– then releases in a shuddering sob. He launches himself forwards, kicking a creature in the face as Young slides his torso through. The colonel takes it in at a glance, then twists, moving back and coming out with his handgun clenched between his fingers.

Something grapples Rush from behind, and he screams, falling under its weight.

Blood and brains explode wetly around his ears, and he scrambles frantically forwards, his hair messily falling in his eyes, globs of brain and gore dripping down his cheeks.

He's over the barrel.

He's at the opening.

He's grabbing onto Young's arms and sliding, slithering through the gap.

Then he's stuck, something slick and boneless twisting around his foot.

He can see the whites of Young's eyes. The black pupils blown so wide only a tiny sliver of colour rings them.

His breath is coming in panicked, shaky gasps and he can feel his lips repeating the same word desperately...

 _pleasepleaseplease_

He kicks his foot out frantically as Young's tired hands slip from his shoulders to his arms.

He clenches his fingers painfully around Young's elbows, kicking, writhing desperately, until suddenly his shoe slips around his heel. He rips his leg forwards, jack-knifing his knee up and finally the grip is gone, his foot cold in the air as they fall forwards in a tangle of limbs, collapsing to the floor. Rush slams into his other side and awakens a host of new aches.

They lie, frozen for a second, staring up at the door, and then Rush snaps forwards, slamming the door button so hard the sting fills his palm, suffusing his pale skin with a red blush.

The door jerkily slides shut. The chalk scrawl spread over the side draws closer towards him.

 _Door 85_

A bloody hand-print clings to the tail of the five.

From behind, he hears Young's panting gasp into the radio.

“Now Greer! Now!”

They both scurry frantically backwards, limbs tangling, arms reaching, and hands clutching tight.

There's a moment of silence, like _Destiny_ herself is holding her breath, and then there's a thunderous noise, so loud it's like there's no noise at all.

The edges of the door are outlined in burning yellow-white for a moment, and the door itself buckles and strains.

The two men tense, frozen in the absence of cover, but the door sags, the fire behind dims, and the sound dulls to a roar.

Rush shakily turns and stares down at the other man. Both of them are covered in muck and filth, both are tired and wounded, but both are still alive – so very much alive. And he feels a painful grin stretch in the tired skin of his face, sticky with blood.

He drops his head to the other man's shoulder, turning his face into his neck and inhaling the sweet-salt smell from his skin.

Young's hand is gentle on his brow, fingers drifting into his hair, smoothing the ache from his tired head.

His eyes flicker shut and he lets shock and relief carry him under and away.


End file.
